


It's A Trap

by thewhiterose3



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 01:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2833202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewhiterose3/pseuds/thewhiterose3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And if it were any other day with any other team and any other less paranoid 2IC, they might have continued on their way. They might have fulfilled the mission as planned only to realize a man named Max planned to take them out and use them as a scapegoat, blaming them for the death of children. It might have torn their team apart and slandered their names at home. But today is not that day, and Roque is one paranoid son of a bitch mother hen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's A Trap

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katemonkey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katemonkey/gifts).



"We find it, we paint it for a laser targeted bomb, and we get the hell out. No muss, no fuss," Clay states succinctly, summing up their mission.

Roque cannot help but interrupt, "for that they need us?"

"You'd rather take on fifty guys with AKs?,” ever trying to find the silver lining, Pooch throws in his two cents.

And if it were any other day with any other team and any other less paranoid 2IC, they might have continued on their way. They might have fulfilled the mission as planned only to realize a man named Max planned to take them out and use them as a scapegoat, blaming them for the death of children. It might have torn their team apart and slandered their names at home. But today is not that day, and Roque is one paranoid son of a bitch mother hen.

“Pull over,” Roque suddenly barks, cutting through Pooch’s laugh at the glares he received from possibly jinxing their mission.

“The fuck, Roque? It was just a joke,” Pooch insists, looking at the team for back up, not slowing down in the slightest.

“Pooch,” Roque all but roars. “this isn’t about a goddamn jinx. Stop the fucking truck.”

Sensing his utter lack of playfulness, Clay acquiesces and nods to Pooch who pulls halfway off the dirt track they are currently inhabiting.

Once the vehicle comes to stop, Roque surveys his team. Seeing that he has their undivided attention he shares his view on their current situation.

“It’s a trap,” he insists. With a withering glare, he chooses to ignore Jensen’s bark of laughter and fist bump with Pooch, followed by Cougar’s smirk and instead turns to Clay.

“Where were we three days ago?,” Roque begins.

“Ass deep in the Sahara,” Pooch chimes in.

“Precisely,” Jensen takes over. “Why would they fly us half way around the world for a simple paint job? There’s gotta be dozens of teams in closer range.” He holds out his hand and Roque immediately snags the tablet from Clay’s lap and distributes it accordingly.

“We can’t have one fucking cake mission?” Clay interrupts, obviously more annoyed by having so little control over his team than with the actual interruption. “Maybe we finally earned some goddamn good will up in the brass.”

Four pairs of eyes immediately stop what they’re doing and look at the Colonel, incredulously. Jensen even stops typing for a moment. And really, they don’t need to say anything at all, Cougar taking the time to lift up the brim of his ever-present hat is a goddamn monologue in and of itself.

Now would be the time that Jensen unnecessarily translates Cougar-speak for the rest of them, but given that he’s a little preoccupied at the moment, Rogue takes up the mantle of harassing their CO. It’s pretty much his job description by now.

“Pretty sure any good will you ever had got used up last time you fucked a General’s wife, Clay,” he throws the barb.

“I’m sorry, I don’t usually ask women at the bar how many goddamn stars are on their husband’s shoulders. And she wasn’t even his wife, then,” Clay rallies. Before Clay can continue with his paltry defense, he is interrupted by Jensen’s sudden colorful swearing.

“Goddamn mother fucking son of yeti,” Jensen mumbles to himself, immersed in whatever device that he has hooked up to Clay’s tablet.

“Que?,” Cougar interrupts him gently with a nudge.

“There’s just too much intel here. They know everything about this Fadhil guy. There is not a goddamn thing they need us for. And the orders came from Mission Control, but there’s no trail before that. No one signed off on any damn thing, just a throwaway note stating fucking ‘interagency cooperation,’” Jensen trails off still digging.

“Spooks,” Cougar curses beside him, face pale, fists clenched. Jensen seemingly unconsciously leans into him, attempting to comfort as he works. Not even Clay knows all the details of Cougar’s time in the military before he joined their team, but Cougs has one hell of a dislike for anything related to the CIA.

“Goddammit,” Clay assesses the situation, only to be cut off once again by their Tech.

“If I’m reading this money trail right, and I am always right, this Fadhil guy has been working with some spook asshat for quite some time now. Monthly payments to an account in his uncle’s name in bumfuck nowhere Brazil that suddenly stopped. Looks like our friendly neighborhood fucktard had a falling out with Mr. Fadhil and wants us to do his dirty work.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time we played janitor,” Clay begins.

“Further goddamn more,” Jensen continues as if Clay had never interrupted him, “whoever this spook is, he must have specifically requested us. There are four other teams in the region and they flew us halfway around the globe to do a paint job. I hate to say it, but the paranoid bastard is right.”

Jensen proceeds to then turn the tablet around to grace the team with the iconic Star Wars scene intoning Roque’s earlier proclamation. Clay, Roque, and Pooch visibly share a moment of Jensen inspired exasperation, but they can all see how Cougar is now noticeably less tense.

“Fucking nerd,” Roque mocks with a grin teasing at the edges of his mouth before Pooch brings them back to focus.

“The Pooch suggests catastrophic equipment failure.”

“Seconded,” Jensen jumps in, as Cougar nods beside him.

“Roque,” Clay inquires, “would you like to do the honors?,” handing over their sat phone.

Roque proceeds to pull one of his insanely large knives from God knows where and stab the phone repeatedly before he places it for Pooch to run over and effectively pulverize their only official form of communication with Mission Control. Pooch then cuts a U-Turn in a space that should not be physically possible and they begin their trek to civilization.

Upon their return, Clay will report their failure and request leave for his team. In the meantime, Jensen uses his magic hands and Cougar flirts his way into warehouses and Roque avoids stabbing anyone until the team gets enough intel to take down Max without him being any the wiser. And Pooch gets to be there for the last trimester of Jolene’s pregnancy and baby Pooch gets to have all of the best most badass uncles and AND THEY ALL LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So, this did not turn out at all like I planned. Not one bit. I don't even know, man. And I didn't really follow your prompt either, but I hope you like it regardless. Happiest of Holidays to you, dear Yuletide Prompter. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be. Blah blah woof woof.


End file.
